


The newborn son

by darkandstormyslash



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Gen, associated baby troubles, baby crying, nappy changing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 20:59:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6823915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkandstormyslash/pseuds/darkandstormyslash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If L + R = J is true, just how did Ned Stark manage transporting a newborn infant from the Tower all the way to Winterfell? This is mostly just baby-fluff and a bit of Ned angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The newborn son

**Author's Note:**

> Written quick and not well edited. Just wanted to get it out!

The newborn baby screams the whole way down from the tower. It screams as Ned Stark carries it past the corpses of the guardsmen, screams as he pulls himself onto the horse one-handed, screams as he tries to rock it one-handed, holding the reins with the other, setting the horse off as slowly as he can.

Ned stares down at it helplessly. He feels numb. Numb and confused and broken. He's dishonored his name as a warrior, he's found his sister dead, he's found out the truth about Lyanna and Rhaegar. And now he has a newborn baby giving a constant determined cry in his arms.

It's such a strange thing. All twisted and wrinkly and covered in blood and shit and mess. He wants to just throw it away, gallop off and leave it to cry itself to death. But he's suffered so much dishonour today, he's not sure he can face anymore. Ned Stark the backstabber he can live with. Ned Stark whose sister betrayed him he'll learn to cope with. Ned Stark the babykiller, the kin-killer, that's a step too far. 

The horse is moving slow. The baby is starving. He has no idea what to do.

He can't ride one handed, that much is becoming clear, not holding the baby safe and moving at any kind of speed. And he needs milk, milk for the infant whose mother never had the chance to feed it. Stopping the horse he tugs away his armour and pushes the baby down into his shirt, using the sleeves and his belt to hold it in place. Not perfect, and it means he's riding in his vest with his chest smeared in blood and gods-know what else, but it'll hold. He grabs the reins again, gives them a shake, and the horse starts moving briskly.

The baby, miraculously, stops crying. Maybe it's too exhausted, maybe it's the comfort of Ned's skin or the movement of the horse. Within a few minutes it's fallen asleep and Ned breathes a sigh of relief.

\---

He stops at the first house he sees, desperate to get some milk into the little infant. It's still asleep, the head seems to be lolling strangely - is that normal? Ned Stark has no idea how babies work. He was never taught and it suddenly seems like a massively large gap in his education. Women die all the time in childbirth - is it really so unbelievable that he'd never have to care for a child?

The house is a farm, and to his relief they have milk. The farmer is old and wrinkled, his wife dimpled and charming. They have children of their own, long grown up and gone, and the wife picks up the infant with creaking bones, cooing over it and feeding it milk from a little cup. Ned watches helplessly for a while then finally pulls himself together and asks her to show him how.

He's no good at it.

He tilts the cup and it spills. He holds the milk and the baby screams and twists and knocks it. He gets a few drops in and the baby spits it out and coughs. Ned feels himself heating up. It's been so long since he's been _bad_  at anything. He's a good fighter, an excellent soldier, a capable leader. This is something he had no idea about at all and he's all awkward thumbs. 

He perseveres, and eventually manages to get a few drops down the boy. But now the infant is awake, and blatantly unhappy about it. He screams and squeals and cries so much that Ned takes him out of the house, mutters apologies. He walks up and down the fields, rocking and shushing, it makes no difference. 

He sits down under a tree eventually - if the poor thing is going to cry Ned might as well rest while he cries. He holds the infant in his arms and watches as he makes little helpless sucking noises. Ned can hardly suckle the babe so he offers the next best thing, his little fingertip.

The baby sucks at it frantically and then finally, wonderfully, miraculously, his eyelids start to droop and he falls asleep.

Ned doesn't dare move. He stays under the tree until morning.

\---

The next morning the old woman feeds the baby again, while Ned has a wash. His chest is sticky with mess and mucus. When he's clean he comes out to find the woman waiting, shyly offering him another container of milk to take with him. 

He thanks her and presses coin on her. Not too much though, because he has limited funds and he's starting to think of a plan. This is what he needs, not this old couple perhaps, but a young couple. Some smallfolk who can watch the child and see him grow. Nobody can know the baby is Lyanna's, nobody can know there was a baby at all. He'll save his coin, and give it all, generously, to help pay for the child's keep. He feels a wash of relief at the thought. He can keep Lyanna's baby safe, the child won't die, he can grow happy and healthy and unaware of his birth or the wider world.

The woman helps him to tie a piece of cloth around his chest to hold the infant snugly in place. Ned isn't sure if he imagines it, but the almost-constant wailing seems to lighten a little once the baby is back in contact with his chest. Maybe it's just muffled. He pulls his shirt over the top, leaving it unbuttoned, and thanks her again.

She gives him a bundle of padded cloth as he leaves. "You'll need to change him. he's all fresh and clean, but he'll mess himself again, and soon."

It's another aspect of baby-care Ned hadn't even considered. There had been some dark sticky mess on his chest but it hadn't been ... crap. He'd assumed it was some sort of strange birthing blood. But of course, he knows the baby will poo. Well, he's fought in shit before, he can deal with it now.

He thanks her again and takes his leave, feeling slightly more certain about things. The baby falls asleep again as soon as the horse starts moving. Ned is tired, he hasn't slept, and physically exhausted and injured from the fight. But he still feels a sort of strange elation. The baby is still alive! He's fully responsible for it, and it's still alive. That feels good, it buoys him up as he continues the ride.

The baby wakes mid-way through the day, and for the first time in his little life he's awake and silent, big eyes focused on Ned's chest as the horse gallops across the fields. Ned knows where he's headed now, and by the close of the day, after an unsuccessful attempt at feeding and another long crying session, he's reached a small town. He canters in and asks around a bit and finds a women whose recently birthed. Not for the first time either, he's ushered into a small hut with at least six children of varying ages inside it, all peering up at him, the youngest asleep in a cot. 

Ned looks at it jealously. If only his baby were so quiet and sensible.

The mother is plump and happy, greeting him with a smile, and taking the baby almost instantly, shaking her head and saying it's not a man's job. When she peels away the wrapping, there's a stinking green mess around the baby's bottom, which looks red and raw, and Ned watches desperately and helplessly as she tuts and coos and cleans it up, smearing thick yellow cream over the child and then latching him onto her breast. The baby's eyes open in surprise and he suckles desperately, eager for this strange bounty of available food. Ned feels another wave of helplessness. Suddenly he isn't as sure as he'd been in the morning. Instead he's tired, aching, sore and useless. This mother knows exactly what she's doing. He's just helplessly flailing around, step by hopeless step.

The house is clean, the family is loved. This place will do for the baby. He fingers the coin in his purse. Will the woman be insulted if he asks? Will she be happy to take on another mouth? Will he be able to send coin regularly without arousing suspicion?

The baby feeds and feeds, but when he's finished he spits out the breast and starts crying again. The mother bounces him and sings to him but he doesn't stop. Ned hurries over and, almost reflexively, slides his little finger into the tiny mouth. In a moment, the baby's cheek turns to rest against his hand and the eyes flicker closed.

"Well!" The mother laughs, half impressed, half relieved. "He's a lucky boy to have a father such as you!"

Ned gives a wan smile. He spends that night sitting up against a beam, dozing in and out of sleep with the baby once again in his lap.

\---

By the next day he's made a decision. The child must be left with a family to care for it. That much is clear, but not here. He'll need to visit, to bring money, to check up, to protect the infant. After all, how many people knew Leanna Stark was pregnant? There might be whole armies out looking for a misplaced infant. And this child does look like Leanna - or rather, it looks like a Stark. In all honestly, he thinks it looks more like Benjen.

It does need a name though, a common easy name that won't stand out, so as he leaves with another supply of milk, Ned politely asks the man of the house what he's called.

"Jon." The man beams, "And this is my wife Tilly."

"Thank you Tilly, for everything..." He gives her more coin, and a kiss on the hand, she blushes, adjusts the sling carrying baby Jon and tells him again what a good father he is.

This time, her words stick in his mind. They give him something to think about as the horse gallops on and the newly named little Jon sleeps against his chest. Jon isn't his son, but he is Ned's nephew. He looks like a Stark. He'll grow looking like a Stark. Would anyone find it so unbelievable that this _could_ be his son?

He squints down at the little face and feels something like a tug at his heart. He always used to roll his eyes at the old romantic stories, tales of mothers caring for their children, dying for their daughters lives, sacrificing everything for their sons. But when he looks at this child, he feels something he's never felt before, something he's not sure he ever knew he could feel. Jon makes something inside of him tremble. This baby might not be his, but Ned's the one who can make him sleep. Ned's the one carrying him, and caring for him, feeding and changing him.

He stops at midday to clean and change the yellow-green gunk that baby Jon is enthusiastically leaking everywhere. He gives the baby another feed, more successfully this time. Having had the breast, Jon seems more keen on suckling other items that might be persuaded to bring forth milk. Ned fashions a sort of teat out of a piece of thin cloth and his water-skein and feels a rush of pride as Jon sucks on it, his little cheeks growing rosy and pink as he feeds.

He can't give this baby up to strangers. This boy is a Stark, and should be bought up in Winterfell.

But if he calls himself the father, who on earth does he say is the mother?


End file.
